November 5, 2024
I’ve been aware of the weight of my superego lately and it reminds me that it’s not just my own but one that’s been inherited from past generations, most recently my father and mother but they received it from their forebears as well. I feel like the voice of mental commentary in my head is mostly my superego and I’m growing tired of its chatter. It thinks it's so witty! Well, it feel old and trite to me. I like meditation and other times like during physical activity when it disappears and there is nothing but silence.
Sitting during meditation today, I held the weight of the superego in a light but curious fashion, not trying to do anything to it other than invite understanding. This is the essence of inquiry and it never fails. What is revealed is almost always unexpected, yet it also makes sense.
I see my habitual, cynical, witty persona as being informed by my superego. It is characterized by disdainful, distancing, acerbic and sardonic thoughts. There is a weariness to it, a skepticism and doubt. I feel separate when I identify with this structure but also elevated. So there is hauteur in it. It gets really tiring and the thoughts generated are always of the same flavor and repetitive. I guess I can see there is narcissism in as well. So, maybe it’s a constellation of egoic identities and the superego is the glue that holds it all together?
At first, I perceived darkness. It was like I was stuck in a gloomy, lifeless cemetery. There was a hot, dry wind and ashes. I understood that I was standing among the graves of my ancestors and could feel them as the progenitors of this heavy, bitter, cynical outlook/identity. I’m not blaming them here. I mean, I come from peasant stock and life was undoubtedly brutal and difficult and full of suffering. Such a life doesn’t tend to make one a happy, cheerful or carefree person. It’s entirely understandable where this attitude comes from.
It reminded me of when I took magic mushrooms in late February this year. The overwhelming ‘lesson’ from that experience was how I only got to be here because of my ancestors. It was their sacrifices and hard work that made it possible for me to live the life I have now. Maybe because I’m gay, I have tended to reject any connection to my ancestors and judge them harshly. (Sound familiar? Just read the above paragraphs.) The experience on shrooms led me to view them more sympathetically and also to feel how I am still connected to them. They live in me whether I like it or not. Rather than reject them, I allow them.
I never know how much to trust what I see in these visions so take this with a grain of salt. I gradually became aware of an immense, black being that radiated darkness, obscuring everything and turning the graveyard a murky grey/black. I could tell this was what I call a parasite, a being that lives off the energy of others whether they are currently embodied or deceased. As you know, I don’t regard such beings as malicious, rather they are part of the ecology. Just as butterfly larvae prey on plants, harming them when they are in their juvenile form, these beings feed on souls. However, just because they are destructive in their immature form, does not mean they are not providing a beneficial service, nor does it mean that they will be destructive when they mature. Butterfly larvae generally mature into adults that help the very plants they once preyed upon.
This black being was particularly strong and I wasn’t sure if I alone could handle it. I gave it a shot, opening to its blackness and allowing myself to be consumed by it. This is a curious thing: By allowing myself to be consumed, I was able to understand it and see where it was twisted. In this case, I could tell it was feeding on me and my ancestors for power. A simple question initiated its metamorphosis: “What good is power if you’re destroying us in the process?” It was clear the answer to this question was obvious to it: Nothing.
The being began to metamorphosize, its darkness dissolving and its body beginning to radiate a soft blue light. I recognized it as it changed: This was now a being we humans sometimes call angels. I wondered if it had been snared somehow by us and inadvertently corrupted into a devouring black creature or if it had started out as a smaller devouring creature that gradually grew in size and power as it fed upon us. I guess I’ll never know the answer to the question.
The newly-changed being blinked up at me. (I was holding it in my arms.) Angels’ faces aren’t meant to be looked upon so I can’t be entirely sure what it actually looked like. Nothing quite human, that’s for sure. But beautiful. Always so beautiful.
The angel disappeared. Where? I have no idea. The graveyard was still a graveyard full of desiccated leaves and brown, crumbling stones. Not quite a pauper’s grave because at least the stones were marked but it wasn’t a rich person’s graveyard, either. Overall, it was in a sad state.Yes, sad is the right word.
The big difference was the light. For starters, there was a light now. I can’t say it was transcendent. The light was dry, desiccated like the leaves. Sere. Sort of hopeless. Well, I guess there was at least a glimmer of hope. That’s a start, right? Something to see more clearly by, something that illuminated the other being rattling around in that boneyard. Again, I can’t say that I put a lot of stock in these visions but the being appeared to the incarnation of a superego. My superego? A shared superego? Maybe not a superego at all. Who knows?
The thing looked like an ichthyosaur with a short, small body like a porcupine and brown fur. A long, scaly snout filled with wicked teeth. Red beady eyes. Not exactly cute but it was so ugly that it was kind of cute.
What was the point? Nothing really changed. The superego creature was simply more visible (and kind of adorable in a creepy way.) Perhaps the point was just the increased visibility? Or perhaps it was all just a weird brain fart.
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